


Pinnacle of Common Sense

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Series: Elemental Desires Trilogy [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Early Work, Episode: s03e21-22 Finale Part 1 & 2, M/M, Some Amanda, Some Joe, slash novelization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-05
Updated: 2002-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos finds he can't stay away. Set during Finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinnacle of Common Sense

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many people helped me finish this story, and it still took me five years to do it. Thanks to elynross, Nicole, and Sandy for their lovely beta and editing work, to Melina for technical detail, to Maygra and Killa for keeping me going as the time passed, and to Olympia and Celtling for some last minute hand-holding. This would never have happened without all of you.

When the plane finally landed at CDG it was more than two hours late, and Joe was ready to kill the rest of the passengers -- particularly the ones who had brought an unhappy child aboard. He didn't want to be here, and if there had been any other way, he wouldn't have come. But Adam had insisted, and so here he was, awkwardly juggling his luggage, his laptop, and his papers, waiting to be cleared through Immigration and Customs. He took a deep breath; the smoke-tinted air smelled almost better than fresh, given all the time he spent in bars. 

Even with the escort the airline had given him handling his luggage, it was a mind-numbing process. Waiting in line, showing the proper paperwork, answering cursory questions -- his head was pounding by the time they stamped the records and let him through. His escort took his luggage down to baggage claim, leaving only the laptop for Joe to carry.

Tired, every part of him aching, and in a hell of a mood when he exited the secured area, he couldn't see anyone waiting to pick him up, even though he'd notified Watcher Headquarters ahead of time. Probably a cost-cutting measure, the bastards. He started down the walkway, only to be startled as his elbow -- and his bag -- were scooped up by a young man with a big nose, and brownish hair desperately in need of a trim. He started to strike the guy with his cane before his mind registered that this guy wasn't a thief, and that in a way, he'd been expecting him.

"Jesus, Adam. Where the hell you been?" Young man, right. That was a good one.

"Joe! Good to see you." Adam smiled and hefted the black bag containing the laptop. "This everything?"

"You scared the shit out me." Joe's heart was pounding from all the adrenaline surging through his system. "I thought you were trying to steal the damn laptop."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe you just wanted to know my Tetris score." He shook off Adam's arm. "No one makes an intercontinental flight with just a laptop for company."

"I do."

Joe glared at him. "The rest of my stuff is waiting at baggage claim."

"Well, then, let's get down there." Adam smiled. "I'll catch you up on what's been happening at Headquarters during the ride." 

Joe had to force himself not to stare, to act as if everything was still okay, while MacLeod's voice twisted around in his mind like a kite caught in the wind, repeating a single word: Methos. He'd told no one, of course; it was a secret he shared only with Mac. 

Once he'd found out that Adam had stayed on with the Watchers instead of clearing out completely, he'd kept an eye on Kalas' trial, especially after Adam gave testimony. Kalas had guessed something, that was pretty obvious, and Joe had worried how he'd play it. He'd watched, but outside of them both inheriting part interest in Don's bookstore, nothing much had happened. 

When Mac learned that Methos was still with the Watchers in Paris, he hadn't seemed too curious -- even though they hadn't seen each other since Kalas went to jail. "It's his life, Joe, and I can't really blame him for staying away. Being around other Immortals tends to put your head at risk." Mac had shrugged. "If he wants to see me, he will."

That's where they'd left it. Mac went on with his life, trying to keep it together, while circumstances seemed determined to pull him apart. His fight with Kegan, for example; that just didn't sit well with Joe. He hadn't been there himself. One of the other Watchers had covered for him, and the damn report that Liberal Arts major had turned in had given him pause. 'Coldly dispassionate,' 'an inhuman executioner, consumed with icy rage' -- those weren't words he normally associated with Mac. Not in a fight, anyway; he threw his heart into it when he fought.

Nah, it was probably an exaggeration, anyway. Mac was fine; he wasn't losin' it. He just needed a few friends around, that was all. Richie'd left the country a little bit before Anne called it off, right? He'd probably appreciate some company right now.

Joe thought about it as he followed Adam across the terminal and onto the enclosed escalator that led -- eventually -- to baggage claim. He'd check in with Mac while he was here; touch base, have a drink, that sort of thing. See how he was holding up after everything that had happened.

He'd drag Adam along, as well. The more, the merrier, or so the old saying went. Joe grinned slightly. Adam was bound to be a lot more distracting than he would be; Mac wouldn't expect Methos at all.

* * *

From baggage claim, they took the train into Paris, stashing the luggage between the two of them and out of the way of the other passengers. Ten minutes of small talk -- "How's America?" "Still standing. How's Paris?" "Full of people" -- was followed by staring blankly out of the windows at the grey landscape and matching rain. Joe fell asleep, catnapping after his ten plus hour flight in from San Francisco, not to mention the flight from Seacouver before that. They would probably have been safe discussing something more interesting in English, but life as a Watcher -- and an Immortal -- had made Methos security conscious. 

Joe looked like he was about to burst by the time they ambled out of the train station and down to the car. Methos barely managed to pull the Volvo out into traffic before Joe said, "Tomorrow I think we should drop in on Mac."

"Joe--" The statement caught Methos off guard. He quietly panicked, his heart rate zooming and his mind flying to the first objection he could think of, buying him some time. "You know Watchers aren't supposed to get involved with Immortals." Keep it rational, keep it simple, follow it through, and don't think too much -- but it was too late; his mind was already in a whirl. Did he want to see Mac? He knew he'd just assumed that in some distant time, he would drop in on MacLeod and, uhm, renew their relationship. But see him now? His throat felt tight and dry; it made it hard to swallow. He really shouldn't go over there with Joe. "It's dangerous."

Rolling his eyes, Joe said, "Yeah, a lot of things are dangerous. As dangerous as an Immortal living as a mortal under Horton, I doubt it."

Oh, fuck. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, Methos."

Joe knew. The words stabbed at him, and he nearly swerved off the road as instinct took over. Denial was the first law of survival. "Methos? What do you mean, Methos?" He smiled jovially, or at least he hoped it was jovial. "I'm a Methos researcher, Joe, not the oldest Immortal himself. I know it's easy to confuse the two as you get older, but I didn't think you'd gone over the edge."

"Don't bullshit me." Joe shifted in his seat, not looking at him. "MacLeod mentioned it after finding your apartment wiped bare."

"So you and he shared midnight confessions?" He felt like ice. Bloody hell. He never would have expected MacLeod to tell his Watcher something like that. Hell, Watchers and Immortals weren't supposed to talk at all, it was against the rules -- not that that seemed to stop anyone who really wanted to. Anger raced through him as he stared at Joe, nearly plowing into the white Citroen in front of them when it stopped short. 

Joe **knew**.

"Don't get your panties in a knot." Joe glared right back at him. "Mac isn't the type to shout from the rooftops, 'Hey, I found Methos. Come by and kill him.' He thought you'd cleaned yourself out and moved on." Joe shrugged. "I think he needed to tell someone that hed just met the worlds oldest man, and who else would care?"

He didn't say the rest of it, but Methos could read between the lines. Who else could he talk to that would be safe to tell? Joe and Mac had been friends for a couple of years, and Joe already knew all about Immortals. What was one more secret among all the others the Watcher kept? And as far as Mac had known, Methos had left town.

"Bastard," Methos muttered under his breath, ignoring his churning stomach as he put off thinking about what to do. MacLeod... He swallowed, staring out the window, still torn about how he had left. The Watchers were right; he'd had to move. Kalas would eventually escape, and it was best if Methos -- Adam -- couldn't be found.

The Watcher protection program wasn't bad; his new apartment was nice, and the high security building came with round-the-clock guards. But with moving, and end-of-term classes, and just trying to stay on Vemas' good side, he hadn't been able to even think about Duncan MacLeod -- or read all of the chronicle updates that Joe had sent in since that night. "Let's talk about it after we see the lawyers."

It gave him a chance to get some distance, gain a little perspective about the events. So what if Joe knew? Joe was in thick with MacLeod, that was certain; Methos could use that if he needed to. How far did he trust Joe? Certainly MacLeod thought he could be trusted, and he was a damn good poker player, but did that really add up to anything? How much of a risk was it for a compromised Watcher to know who he was?

They still had most of the day before they had to meet with the lawyers; Joe's flight had landed in the early morning, and their meeting wasn't until the afternoon. He dropped Joe off at the hotel, then headed to the bookstore. He wasn't going to give himself a chance to even think about Duncan MacLeod.

* * *

A blanket of mist covered the quay, obliterating peripheral vision, leaving only a focus on the now. The sounds of traffic were muffled, and the heat of the day had leached from the air. Cold and heartsick, Duncan stumbled through the fog, his footing unsure, the noise of combat leading him on. The cry of Immortal presence surged through him as he found the sluggish, foul-smelling water flowing out of the tunnel, a tributary of the river that had overflowed its bounds. He splashed through it, trying to reach the platform inside the tunnel, where he could barely make out two dark figures and a trace of lamplight. His footsteps echoed against the stonework as the water returned to its bank, his limbs leaden, his movement labored. Heart pounding, he knew the fight was nearing its end; he tried to run, tried to stop the inevitable, the sound of his own harsh breathing the only thing that told him he was moving at all.

Like a curtain going up, the fog lifted, and he was frozen by the sight before him: Kalas poised above a kneeling figure, ready for the final blow. His eyes met Kalas', and Duncan's stomach twisted at the triumph written there. 

"This one is the first, MacLeod." Kalas' voice was harsh and scratchy, a mockery of his once-musical tone, a fallen angel burned by inner fire.

Helplessly, Duncan watched as Kalas' blade fell and soundlessly separated head from body, blood spattering everywhere. In slow motion, both parts fell to the ground, and then the Quickening struck.

Kalas' body jerked and writhed as the energy flew into him, his mouth open, eyes staring, his raspy scream sinking into the stone walls. The mist curled around him, hiding and revealing the scene, sharp images that burned into Duncan's mind, leaving only the memory of Kalas' triumphant face staring at him, his voice taunting. "Too late, MacLeod."

When the world righted itself, Kalas was gone, and Duncan was finally able to move. He rushed up the side of the platform, knowing what he'd see...

But instead of Fitzcairn's head, he saw a woman's face, blue eyes and straight blonde hair, her mouth open in a grimace of death, blood speckling her pale, pale skin. Her body, wrapped in a diaphanous blue gown, lay so close that it was almost possible to ignore the decapitation. 

Tessa...

Duncan sank onto the deck, unable to stand, knowing he had failed. He felt drained, his body trembling as if he'd taken a physical blow, his mind circling around her name like a leaf in an eddy, bereft and alone...

He jerked awake. His heart pounded with the force of his nightmare as awareness of his surroundings filtered through dream-induced terror. He threw the covers aside and sat up, his feet resting on the cold floor, elbows braced on thighs, head cradled in his hands. He swallowed, and swallowed again, forcing himself to come down from the nightmare, to return to reality.

Kalas was still in prison, a day's drive from Paris, while Tessa had died over a year ago. He took deep breaths and tried to let the dream go. But Tessa-- Although the pain had lessened, at times he still missed her deeply. Tessa, and all his other missing friends. It was no wonder his mind conjured up their spirits on occasion, but he knew that the dream was merely a cruel way of dealing with stress. Unlike Darius, Duncan put no stock in premonitions of death.

But the image of Tessa's death at Kalas' hands would not leave him. Duncan stood and stretched, and picked up his robe. Dawn was close enough to start the day.

Afterward, Duncan would remember the nightmare as a marker, a sign of things to come. But at the time, the lethargy it brought him could be managed by coffee and a long run, the anxiety and sense of disconnection dispersed through meditation and a complete workout, along with a thorough cleaning of the barge. But always at the back of his mind he knew, knew he was waiting for something, waiting for the herald and the bad news.

* * *

The lawyer's office was situated on the north side of the building, and Methos could feel the heat leaking out of the room through the single panes of glass. It was an old, established law firm, in an old, established building; the only irregularity was the occasional flash of a Watcher tattoo drawn on a conservatively-dressed wrist. But lawyers were methodical, no matter what language they used, no matter what secret society they belonged to; Methos felt like he'd been pounded against the rocks for the last few hours, a piece of laundry that couldn't be cleaned, and he was sick of legalese. He looked over at Joe, who still looked tired, despite his chance to catch a shower and a nap at the hotel. Methos promised himself that as soon as they were finished, he'd take Joe out somewhere, maybe a creperie, get him some food, some wine, and a chance to relax. It would do them both good.

He leaned back in the not-too-comfortable chair as the lawyer droned on. 

"As soon as Christine Salzer comes in, we can complete the process."

"What do you mean, when she comes in? I thought she was meeting us here." Joe glanced over at Methos, who shrugged. He had thought this was the last hurdle as well.

"Madame Salzer has not returned any of our phone calls, and until she comes in and we get her signature on a release, we cannot transfer ownership to the new company." The lawyer folded his hands and stared at them both. "Perhaps you could talk to her yourselves and convince her to come in." 

It sounded like an order. Methos looked over at Joe, who nodded back. "Sure, we'd be happy to."

"Good." The lawyer slid a copy of some of the papers into a manila folder. "This should make the case clear, once she has a chance to review them." He stood and held out the envelope. "Nice doing business with you."

The cuff on his shirt rode up just enough to show the edge of his tattoo. Joe took the paperwork and shook his hand; Methos smiled politely and did the same, stuffing another of the lawyer's business cards into his pocket, his mind on other things.

Seeing Christine wasn't exactly at the top of his priority list. It barely outranked pouring kerosene on himself and setting himself on fire. He wanted to find out more about what had happened with MacLeod during the past few months, what he knew about that night. 

Actually, Joe could be a veritable font of information on a lot of things; all of those Watcher reports and updates, for example, that Methos hadn't had time to read -- whether they involved that night or not. He smiled slightly, some of his real pleasure at the thought leaking out, as opposed to the perfunctory smile he'd glued on for the lawyer. He had a vague feeling that it made him look more like the Cheshire cat than the Mona Lisa; Joe was looking at him rather strangely.

Still, it might be a very interesting evening.

* * *

Duncan was exhausted. Although the clock said it was not yet eight, it'd been a hell of a day, and he wanted to turn in -- but he knew he couldn't. He was still waiting for 'it' to happen, whatever 'it' might be. His mouth thinned in anger at himself. He had lived through too much to believe in death omens, but the dream had unsettled him; he hadn't been able to set the feeling aside. He stared out the porthole, not really watching anything at all, letting the moment wash over him, letting himself fade into the evening. 

As much time as he'd spent learning to ignore the superstitions of his childhood, there was a part of him that sometimes still relied on gut instinct more than any rationalization. Tonight was one of those times, and he could feel it vibrating within him, a warning written in the wind, on the water, in the sway of the boat around him. Something was about to happen. 

There it was. A tingling feeling gripped the base of his spine, alerting him to the presence of another Immortal. Duncan felt the barge shift as someone stepped aboard; 'friend or foe' was always his first thought, followed instantly by the kinesthetic awareness of where his katana was. He hesitated to grab it, part of him thinking that maybe, just maybe, he knew this particular signature...

Amanda ducked through the door, her arms laden with a pair of shopping bags.

He was right. "Amanda!" 

Her smile held an element of self-satisfaction as she walked into the salon. "I gotta hand it to you, MacLeod, youve got a memory like an elephant."

Duncan shook his head, smiling slightly, wondering what she could be up to this time. It had been months since he'd seen her, and she seemed too nervous for anything to bode well. He'd have to be patient and wait, wait for her to work up the courage to tell him what she needed or what had happened, to slide the last piece into place so that the game could start.

Still, he felt uneasy. Something more was at stake than simple theft; he could feel it deep inside. But he had to wait for Amanda to tell him what it was all about.

* * *

Joe slammed the phone down with an angry growl and looked over at Methos. "She says she can't see us until tomorrow."

"Why?" Methos asked, glancing around the lobby. No one was watching them; there wasn't even a security guard to monitor the pay phones. "She has to want this over with as much as we do."

"She wouldn't say." Joe grimaced. "After Don's death, I think she just hates anything related to the Watchers."

"No chance of a friendly visit, then?"

"Nope."

"Lovely." Methos stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat as they walked through the stone archway onto the busy street. Looking up at the clouded sky, then back down to the empty courtyard used for parking, he wanted to blame Joe or Christine for his mood, or at least blame the lawyers, but even that wouldn't work. 

Face it. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, he wanted to see Mac again.

His face warmed as memories of their first meeting flitted through his mind. For the hundredth time, he damned Ryan for interrupting them -- and damned himself for running out. He could still remember the touch of Mac's hands on his skin... The thought soothed away some of his bad temper, even as he felt his blush fading. How utterly pathetic.

"Let's go back to the hotel."

Methos blinked; he hadn't been listening. "What?"

"I said, I need to go back to the hotel." Joe pulled his shoulders back a little, and Methos heard the audible crack. "I hate gettin' old."

Methos looked over at him. "You're not old."

"I need a nap." Joe straightened his shoulders out at bit and looked exasperatedly at Methos. "Everything aches right now, so I'd like to go back to the hotel and rest. "

"I thought you wanted to see Mac."

"After I get some shuteye."

Well, that made sense. After a day's worth of travel and a nine-hour time change, of course Joe was tired. "Sure." He tried not to let his disappointment show. He felt at loose ends these days. Even though his job with the Watchers was stimulating, he felt like he was drifting away from the people he worked with. Joe was at least a part of that world. "Dinner all right? I'll pick you up. I know this fantastic bistro--"

"Adam."

Methos looked up from studying his feet. "What?"

Joe was looking at him in an annoyingly knowing fashion, the sunlight highlighting the salt-and-pepper in his beard. "Don't take it out on MacLeod." Joe shook his head, his hands resting on his cane. "He's a good guy."

"I don't need any more good guys in my life, thanks." Joe's words brought some of his anger back, and Methos shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "If he can't keep his mouth shut, I don't need to talk to him."

"I thought you wanted to see him."

"Yes, but I don't need to. I managed five thousand years without running into him. I think I'm good for another thousand." It was a lie, Methos knew, but that never stopped him from talking.

Joe rolled his eyes as Methos stared at him. "You know better than that. Mac doesn't give up on people."

Methos shrugged. "I don't have to be found."

Joe climbed in and turned to glare up at Methos. "You still don't get it, do you? Once you're one of Mac's friends, he won't let you go. He was friends with Fitzcairn for over 350 years, and he still has me keeping track of Anne, his last girlfriend. I don't think he buys that you dropped off the face of the planet."

"I don't need a babysitter." Methos slammed the door and walked around to the driver's side.

Joe didn't say anything at first, waiting until Methos had eased the car out onto the street. "You know that I read every report that comes in from Paris on MacLeod, right?"

"So?" Methos snapped.

"That means I read the report of the night after Kalas was taken. The night that Richie's Watcher reported on Duncan and an unknown man, and an argument on the barge."

Richie's Watcher? "Oh, damn." They were at a stoplight; Methos closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. Had Joe passed the information onto--? He thought about it; probably not. If Joe had told anyone else in the Watchers, Methos probably wouldn't be here right now. Even if they hadn't learned he was Immortal, they would have transferred him someplace where MacLeod wasn't. He opened his eyes and looked over at Joe. "Who else knows?"

"Nobody, as far as I know. I didn't even put it together at first. It wasn't until I reread the report, after you called me about the bookstore, that I realized who he must have been with." Joe twisted slightly, leaning against the passenger side door. "Are you still going to sit there and tell me that you don't want to see MacLeod?"

The horrible thing was, Joe was right. Methos slowly smiled, laughing at the irony of life. "You know, I really hate it when you do that."

Joe smiled and gestured widely with his arm. "I'm a student of human nature."

"And a damn good one at that." Methos changed lanes, and felt the weight of his sword pull strangely at his shoulders. He hadn't realized how long he'd gone without constantly wearing one. It was a bit of a pain, really. "I'm just very glad that you decided to live in Seacouver instead of Paris. I don't think I could have lasted ten years as a Watcher if you'd been around."

"That's quite a compliment, my friend."

"Not really. It means you're a big pain-in-the-ass."

"I'm sure you would have thought of something." Joe laughed. "So, Mac's place?"

"What about your nap?" Methos asked suspiciously, knowing he'd been caught.

"My vitamins must have kicked in. I'm full of energy."

"All right, but let's stop by the hotel first anyway. I'm hungry, and I need to make a couple of calls, and this way, the Watchers will pay for it." He held up his hand to stop Joe's protest. "Dinner won't be until 8:00, so you can get some rest while I check on some things." Methos sighed melodramatically. "After dinner, we'll go see Mac. But you better hope that he's got something better than beer on that barge. I have a feeling I'm going to need a very stiff drink."

* * *

Carefully, Duncan set the watch back in its box. The anger he'd felt toward Amanda had drained within an hour of her disappearance. Even though he'd sworn that no one would die for him, he knew he couldn't make all of her choices for her. And like Fitz, she wasn't someone he could stay angry with for long, no matter what sort of stupid stunt she pulled. But now, with Kalas out of jail...

It was going to get ugly. Duncan sat at his desk, thinking through the implications. He hoped that she'd grabbed a taxi and gone straight to the airport; if she was gone, this whole mess would be a lot easier. At least both Richie and Anne had left -- he wouldn't have to worry about Kalas getting to them. The fewer people he had to worry about, the more comfortable he felt. He didn't need another Hamza or another Fitz out there, dying in a fight that should have been his.

He looked out the porthole, wondering what it meant: Kalas out of jail.

Kalas had made this personal, with anyone Duncan cared about as his target. He pushed back the chair and stood, worrying at the problem in his mind. There were too many things that could happen, too much he needed to do. First, as much as it bothered him to use Joe like this, he needed to find out if the Watchers knew where Kalas was. He winced a little at the idea, but...Joe had asked him to take care of things for him a time or two. It was what friends did for each other, and even though their friendship had been a rocky one, he counted Joe as a friend.

Was Joe in danger? Did Kalas know about him? Duncan rubbed his hand across his forehead and massaged his temples. Kalas was more than just an Immortal problem. He'd killed Watchers casually, for the information they could provide, and gone after Adam Pierson, before he'd learned that Pierson was Methos. Now Kalas knew that Methos was a Watcher, and knew the type of information the group collected; the entire organization could be in danger.

Joe could tell them and put the Watchers on alert; he could make sure that Methos was back under protective custody. Once that was done, though...Joe would also need protection. Or maybe... The police would have alerted the airports and border crossings as part of their procedures when a felon escaped. They'd be looking for him, too.

So, as long as Joe was still in America, he was safe. At least until they knew that Kalas had left France.

Duncan felt it then, the thrum of Immortal presence. He stood and grabbed his katana. It wasn't like Kalas to be this up-front; he liked to toy with his victims first. But until Kalas was dead, he couldn't risk leaving his sword behind -- not even in his own home.

* * *

Methos waited on the deck while Joe went inside the barge to make sure that Mac was alone. His mouth was dry, and his palms were wet; nervously, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. He remembered the last time he'd been on the barge, the feel of the wooden floor beneath him, the gentle rocking. He flushed, growing hard. This was really stupid. He should never have let Joe talk him into this.

He could hear Joe calling out below. "MacLeod. MacLeod? It's me, Joe Dawson."

"Joe, back off," Mac said. "There's someone else."

He'd wanted to do this, so...he'd better just get it done before he had a chance to think about it. Methos stepped into the barge entryway and looked down at Mac.

The response was gratifying. There was a look of amazement and longing in Mac's eyes, and Methos couldn't get enough of MacLeod, either. He drank in the Highlander's body with his eyes, from the long, loose hair, to his jean-clad thighs, and back again. For an instant, only their eyes spoke, and then Mac breathed out Methos' name in a soft, astonished voice.

That sound went straight into Methos' guts, turning and churning them, generating a heat all its own. Maybe Joe was right; maybe it would be worth the effort to get to know MacLeod. They stared at each other for an instant, a quick spark of heat before Mac broke off eye contact and lowered his sword.

Yes, best leave it for now, Methos thought. The air was apparently combustible.

Mac hurried over to the drink tray. "I'm sorry for the reception. I wasn't expecting you."

Joe shrugged. "Yeah, well, I wasn't really expecting to come." He looked over at Methos, who'd gone to sit by coffee table. "Not till this morning."

Methos examined the chess pieces, ignoring Mac's presence as best as he could. He'd forgotten how devastating MacLeod could be; the gameboard was much safer.

"What brings you to Paris?" Mac called over his shoulder.

Methos' gaze darted up from his intense scrutiny of the chessboard. "I called him," he said quickly, not quite sure what else to say or do.

MacLeod wouldn't even look at him and seemed focused on mixing drinks that required no mixing. "I know you wanted to see Methos, but six thousand miles is a long way to travel for a social visit."

Joe looked back at Methos, who steadfastly avoided meeting his gaze.

Methos knew he should never have come here. He'd known that at the outset, and he found himself too tongue-tied to say anything at the moment. Not unless it started with "kiss me" -- and he wasn't going to say that with Joe around.

Joe seemed to give up. "Yeah, well, it's Watcher business. Really doesn't concern you, MacLeod."

"Whatever." Mac's terse reply made Methos sit up a little and focus on what Mac wasn't saying. Something was going on, he could see that. Something more than the sexual tension that existed between them.

Joe didn't seem to notice. "I mean, if it did, I would tell you."

"It's all right, Joe, I've got my own problems right now."

Methos looked up at him, grateful to have some topic to discuss. "I don't suppose this problem has a name, does it?"

Mac paused, as if gathering his courage, and finally met Methos' gaze. "Kalas."

"But he's in prison," Joe barked.

Mac shook his head. "Not since last night."

Methos finally set down the chess piece and really looked into those dark eyes. "Ah, hell," he whispered. "What will he do next?"

"He'll try to kill us."

Joe interrupted them. "I don't think so." Both Immortals turned to stare at the Watcher. "Kalas likes to play the odds, pick his time, go for overwhelming force. He won't call MacLeod out until he's sure he can trump every card in the deck." His gaze staked Methos to the floor. "I think you should stay here."

"You're crazy."

"No, I'm serious!" His voice trembled with agitation. "You may have the nod on five thousand years of history, but I've made studying Immortals my life."

"And you think I haven't?"

"I *think* you haven't made it your business to know who MacLeod's enemies are. Kalas doesn't simply want to kill MacLeod -- he wants to make him pay for what happened." He took a deep breath. "And from that perspective, you'd be a lot safer here than out on the streets. He knows about Watchers, he knows Adam Pierson -- and he knows about Methos."

Methos looked questioningly at Mac, who nodded slowly. Damn. He should have taken the time to research Kalas once the man went to jail, but he'd thought he was safe. He'd arranged for an accident to happen to Kalas in jail and for the body to be delivered to him, but it looked like that plan was a little out of date. "What do you think, MacLeod?"

"He's right." Mac nodded at Joe, his voice turning low and soft as he looked directly at Methos. "And you're welcome to stay."

A thread of desire flickered in Methos' stomach; Mac was offering more than a room for the night. He could feel sweat break out on the back of his neck as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Let Joe write it off as nerves over the Kalas affair. Hell, let him guess right about why Methos' hands were trembling. It really didn't matter any more.

Methos opened his eye and locked his gaze with MacLeod's. Mac's gaze was just as hot, and though he seemed pensive, the offer appeared genuine. "If that's the--" Methos swallowed, knowing it was too late, and knowing he didn't want to resist. "I'll stay."

Mac smiled, and warmth spread through Methos. "I wish it were better times."

"If wishes were horses..." Methos nodded at the chessboard. "I'll let you be white."

Joe shook himself and sat up in his chair. "Look, guys, it's late for me. I need to get some rest."

"Do you need a ride?" Mac asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get a cab."

"If you're sure," Mac said. "'Otherwise, I'd be happy to give you a ride."

"I said don't worry about it. Anyway, sounds like you and Adam have some things to catch up on." He gave Methos' shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Come by for breakfast, after I've had some sleep."

"Sure, Joe."

"Too bad we can't try some of those sightseeing trips you tempted me with earlier, but you know how it goes."

"Yeah, Joe, I do." By now Amanda's Watcher has probably notified the Watchers that Kalas had broken out of jail, but they wouldn't be able to trace him until he made some move. Once they had something on him, all hell would break loose. He shook himself. "That sounds great. Nine okay?"

"Make it eleven." Joe looked completely exhausted. "I'm not sure how much sleep I'll be getting after that."

* * *

Joe got into the cab, and Duncan waved to him before returning to the barge.

He looked at Methos and tried hard not to smile. It was odd, the way Methos had crept into his life like a thief in the -- almost the way Amanda had.

Duncan frowned. He probably should go out looking for her, but he was still angry. As likely as not, she'd show back up on her own time.

"What's up?" Methos was looking at him with a wide-eyed, startled expression.

Duncan realized he was scowling -- practically glowering -- at him. No wonder those were the first words he'd spoken since Joe left. "Just thinking."

"About Kalas?"

"Amanda."

"Ah."

Duncan nodded. "She's a good friend, Methos. She thought she was doing the right thing." Tessa might have tried something similar; she would have done anything to protect him.

Methos sat there, looking as nervous as a mouse watched by a cat, playing with his teacup. "Look, if you need to do something, call her, or whatever, I can go. Despite what Joe said, I can look after myself. I'll be fine."

"I know." The fear he'd felt drained away. "And so will Amanda." Like Methos, she would find him when she wanted him, and until then, she knew how to make herself scarce. He watched as Methos abruptly set the cup down on the table, as if he'd only just realized what he was doing. He looked -- cute.

Duncan smiled. At the moment, Methos reminded him of nothing so much as a nervous teenager, waiting for his date to get ready. But if he looked at himself, weren't they both feeling like that?

He knew he was nervous, and he'd been telling himself it was all about Kalas. But it wasn't just that., was it? The tingling he'd felt when he handed Methos a glass and their fingers brushed, the way the light threw his profile into stark relief -- the way Methos had run his fingers over the chessmen. Duncan swirled his drink around in his glass, thinking. He could feel the knots in his stomach, the tightness in his chest, the way his heart pounded. It wasn't just Methos who felt a little awkward right now, was it? He drained his drink and set it on the table, smiling ruefully. As long as he stayed on his side of the barge, there was no chance of anything happening at all.

Joe was gone. There wasn't really a reason to keep so much distance between them. A flicker of desire nudged him, and Duncan took a deep breath, telling himself to relax. It had been so easy before...and he bet, if he let it, it could be that easy again. He knew what he wanted, and he suspected that Methos did, too.

But it wouldn't happen as long as Duncan stayed on his side of the barge.

* * *

Methos wondered if Mac could see the way the teacup was shaking. He set it down quickly, not wanting the rattle to give him away. He should have left with Joe. He took a deep, steadying breath and turned to talk to MacLeod, intending to tell him that--

Mac was leaning over the back of the couch, looking at him, desire and compassion lighting his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Methos swallowed and nodded, slowly and deliberately. "It's Kalas" His voice drifted as Mac sat down next to him.

"Just Kalas?" His voice was low and deep, a reminder of passion shared.

"No, not just Kalas." Mere inches separated them, and Methos found himself leaning into Mac's side, his hand resting on MacLeod's arm. "Where's your student tonight?"

"Another country." Mac turned into him, the words breathed across Methos' lips. "On a completely different continent." His lips covered Methos' own.

A tiny jolt of fire raced though Methos' body. Soft, full lips, like a silken pillow, gently slid along his own, tongue begging entry. Without hesitation, Methos yielded to the desire, opening his mouth. His own tongue darted out, wrapping around MacLeod's, sharing the warm, moist space. Mac's grip grew firmer, and he shifted his hold so that he could stroke Methos' chest, sliding his hand up to caress Methos' throat.

At the touch, Methos threw his head back with a gasp, feeling Mac's need pouring through him, filling him with a passionate heat.

"Come to bed, Methos. " He threaded his hands through Methos' hair, then caressed the underside of his chin. "I want you."

Methos could not deny the throb of energy, of desire, that surrounded him, that left no room for anything but his own need. "I want you, too." His own voice startled him, rough and hard, like whitewater rapids, carrying him along. "I want to finish what we started."

The echo of their unfinished tryst had a powerful effect. With a groan, Mac transformed from master to supplicant, sliding his hands under Methos' sweater, his touch the offering Methos' body desperately craved. "I wanted you to stay," Mac said as he slid the shirt off over Methos' head, his lips caressing the pale skin of Methos' shoulders. "I tried to find you."

"I know." There wasn't enough oxygen in the room as Methos fumbled with the buttons on Mac's shirt, sliding it off sculpted shoulders, revealing honey-wine skin. "Iwasn't ready to be found."

"Yet here you are." The words were low and deep, a dirty rumble that sent a shiver down Methos' spine.

"Yes." They separated for an instant, chill air brushing skin as the rest of their clothes came off. Methos shivered, watching Mac unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs, revealing chiseled thighs and a firm ass.

Methos crossed to the bed and sat on it, watching Mac, his own clothing a heap on the floor. Mac moved with the grace and strength of a hawk in flight, one who had sighted his prey.

Methos slid his arm around Mac's neck, and Mac surged over him, pressing him back into the bed. It felt so good to relax for a moment, to let Mac take charge....

But only for a moment.

He pulled Mac close, crushing his lips with his own, feeling them open and beg for a deeper kiss. He slid his hands down Mac's back, feeling the inherent strength and power above him. Methos' cock hardened even more at the thought of taking that power, that strength, grappling with it, and subduing it.

He groaned at the thought, the sound swallowed as MacLeod dove deeper into his mouth, kissing and sucking with focused intensity, as if Methos were the only thing of importance on the planet. The single-mindedness astonished him as lips and hands ghosted over his skin, teasing and sensitizing every inch of his flesh.

Mac brushed a hand over one nipple, sending a jolt of desire into Methos' groin, and then stroked back again, stopping to flick and twist the nub.

Methos arched up into the caress, mirroring it with one of his own. He watched as Mac threw back his head, the picture of sensual Pan himself with his dark brown eyes and hair, then felt Mac slide against him, a spark of need that set him on fire.

He arched up to meet the thrusts, his hands kneading Macs ass, pulling them tightly together. "I still want to fuck you, Highlander." He let his hands slide up Macs back, feeling the pull and press of muscles as Mac moved over him, then he pulled Mac down into a fierce kiss. After exploring Macs mouth, feeling those lips soft and pliant underneath his own, he let out a low growl and rolled. "Now."

"Sounds good to me." Macs voice was as low and as predatory as Methos had been.

He laughed as Mac leaned up to retrieve a bottle of liquid silk. "You believe in being prepared, don't you?"

"Why waste time?" Mac grinned at him, running his hand over Methos' chest as he flicked the spout open with his thumb. "You complaining?" He poured the clear liquid onto his other hand, then slid it between them to fist Methos, smoothing it over his shaft.

Methos groaned and shoved his hard cock deeper into the tunnel of Mac's hand. "Tease."

"No." Mac opened his legs, settling Methos between them as he pulled his knees to his chest, rubbing his ass against Methos' groin. "Not teasing. Promising."

Methos took the bottle from him, smoothing the oil over his fingers before reaching down to slide them past the first ring of tissue, leaving traces of the liquid behind. Mac groaned, and Methos pressed harder and faster, smearing them both liberally with the lube. "Then I take it you want this?"

"Yes, damn it, I want it."

Methos shuddered as the truth of MacLeod's acceptance sank into his bones. He was close, but not quite close enough, to what he desired.

That image left him gasping and open; a moment's hesitation when he felt spun like fine wire, twisting and turning in endless, fruitless motion, before he shifted, and moved, and the feel of hard flesh surrounding him anchored Methos back in reality. He gripped Mac tightly, groaning and thrusting as Mac pushed back against him, taking him deep into his core. Yes, this was what he wanted -- what he needed. The connection, the completion of what had started months before, was an almost instinctual demand.

He could hear Mac's groans, felt hands on his body, caressing him, owning him. "God, Methos..." The words were drawn out like a prayer.

Small kisses turned to bites, and Methos pulled Mac's legs up around his shoulders, arching over him so the penetration could go deeper, harder, give him more. He no longer felt the mattress beneath them, or smelled the cool, clean sheets -- the only thing that existed was sweat, and force, and the brutal need to come.

Mac clung to him, his fingers clawing at skin and muscles, his words a gibberish of languages and thoughts, all of which meant one thing: take me. Make me come. Methos planned on doing just that. "Soon, MacLeod." He punctuated his words with pants and deeper thrusts. "Soon."

Gripping his own erection, Mac jerked himself off as Methos sank into his flesh, his control seeming only slightly better than Methos' own.

Methos shuddered, watching him, his thighs pistoning, losing their rhythm, his balls slapping hard against Mac's ass every time he moved in.

Ecstasy. Methos' need its own fire, consuming him.

He felt Mac's guttural gasp as if it were his own. A shudder deep within him, and the thrusting stopped, held; Methos threw back his head as his orgasm claimed him -- and felt himself fall.

He was left with the sight and sound of Mac, crying out to Methos as he came as well, liquid spurting over his stomach and chest, and the feel of the man pressed against him, sweat to sweat, all muscle and bone. For one instant, he felt like he could see through Mac, past the flesh, past the bone to the energy, the power -- the Quickening -- within.

He pushed himself back, trying to get away, but his body felt leaden; he was caught in a maelstrom of emotion as doors long barred were opened and blinds torn apart from some inner force. He froze, too late to stop, the drop a dizzying screech of wind and noise around him, wondering how much it would hurt when he finally reached the ground. He could not speak, could not move with conscious thought; his body jerked and sputtered on automatic, the force of completion rolling through him, erasing him from his own thoughts.

He jerked back, momentarily snapping into awareness; Mac was coaxing him to lie down, as he had that first time so many weeks ago. He gently stroked Methos' back and thighs, and all the fire felt leached from him; he didn't have enough energy left to move. He eased onto his side next to Mac on the bed.

Damn, he felt good. Mac kissed him, long and slow and deep, and that felt even better.

"Falling asleep on me?"

"Maybe." Methos laughed and smiled, watching Mac putter around and get a warm, wet cloth, then Methos let him clean and cover him, gentle as a craftsman working with stained glass. Quiet touching, then the weight on the bed shifted as Mac settled down next to him; Methos kissed him gently, letting him know that it was okay, before he turned away, not yet willing to let this new revelation be seen. He hugged the feeling tight to himself, wrapping himself in it, letting himself revel in an emotion he had not felt in years.

He let himself love.

* * *

Duncan stayed awake, watching Methos sleep. He looked warm and carefree at the moment, the tiny lines of stress easing in slumber. He seemed...ordinary.

Propping himself up on his left arm, Duncan carefully stroked wisps of hair away from Methos' eyes. Hard to believe he was so old, and yet so open emotionally. A lot of Immortals lost their connection to humanity within a few centuries, the burden of living so long too great to bear.

Was that what was happening to him, he wondered? Would the burden of living become too much to bear? Would he harden like so many others had? Or would he, like Methos, pull through?

Methos took a deep breath in his sleep, burrowing into the covers. Here he was, the oldest Immortal of them all, and still he was human, an ordinary guy. Touchable. He leaned over and kissed the nape of Methos' neck; even in slumber, the man arched into the caress. Duncan grinned. He loved a hedonist.

He settled back into bed himself, wrapping his arm around Methos' waist. Not a god at all, just a fallible -- and sexy -- man, who still had the capacity to care. Letting warmth suffuse him, Duncan at last closed his eyes, letting their connection soothe him into sleep.  


* * *

Methos stretched languorously, every muscle resettling itself appropriately after last night, Mac's body still nestled around his own. He felt weighted down and too hot; he needed some breathing room, and he needed it now.

He slipped out of bed and wrapped up in Mac's robe, trying not to look at that seductive form. Had Mac been a little too comfortable, a little too casual, about the affair last night? Perhaps the connection Methos had felt was all one-sided. Maybe the feelings he had weren't really shared.

Maybe Mac simply thought he was a great fuck.

Or maybe Mac thought it would be great to be fucked by Methos, the world's oldest man.

He strolled down to the fireplace and carefully restarted the flame, determined to be analytical about the process for once. He stared into the flickering light, frowning as the thoughts chased themselves around in his mind, unable to come to any conclusions. There was simply too much about Duncan MacLeod that he didn't yet know; no point in pushing him away by trying to get close. He'd have to be casual about their affair, keep his tone light, not try for too much.

Oh, who was he kidding here? He was the one who wanted to keep it casual. He could easily envision himself slipping into old patterns, subsuming himself in a lover's world, letting it create who it was that he was supposed to be. He thought he'd set that need aside a thousand -- two thousand -- years ago, but here it was, popping up once again.

No, despite how good the sex was, this relationship was laden with potential disasters. He couldn't stay here anymore; he shouldn't have spent even the one night. He'd let Joe's flimsy premise rationalize what he wanted to do, and he couldn't afford that. There were other arrangements he could make.

MacLeod was just too tempting for Methos to feel truly safe.

* * *

Duncan lay on the bed and watched Methos crouch by the fire, seeing the reflection of his own doubts in the spare, silk-swaddled form. Last night had been wonderful -- more than wonderful, actually -- but day carved pictures different from night, and the bed felt cold from Methos' withdrawal.

Methos looked ready to bolt, as he had done after their first interrupted night together. What was he so afraid of, that a simple night together could cause such panic and distrust? Duncan wondered if he had been wrong last night, about Methos being so open emotionally. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe Methos had withdrawn so much that he'd forgotten what it was like to have a lover.

It was an awkward thought. Duncan threw off the covers and padded over to Methos. "Regrets?" he asked softly, laying his hands on Methos' cloth-covered shoulders.

"No, no regrets," Methos said matter-of-factly. "It was a very pleasant night."

Duncan squeezed Methos' shoulders gently, kneading them. "We could have a few more."

Methos stiffened under his hands. "I'd like that."

"Tonight?"

"Maybe." Methos stood up quickly. "I need to get dressed. I have to pick up Joe pretty soon."

Duncan laid his hand on Methos' arm. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, MacLeod. No problems." He sounded brittle, and his face was completely closed off.

Duncan felt a rising sense of frustration. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. " Blank face, blank tone. Absolutely no information.

"I'd just like to be your friend, Methos. I'm not making any demands."

Methos jerked away, gathering his things. "I should go. I have to see Joe for breakfast."

"Methos--"

"This isn't your fight, MacLeod. This is Watcher business, and for once, it has nothing to do with Immortals. Leave it at that." He squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head; some of the tension went out of his form by the time he opened his eyes. "Just...leave it, Mac. I'm sorry. I do want to get to know you but...I...right now is not a good time."

Duncan looked at him in confusion, not sure whether he had said or done something to trigger this mess, or if Methos had simply awoken feeling out of sorts. "When will it be a good time?"

"I don't know."

There was a long pause while Duncan gathered his thoughts. He wasn't sure what this was about or why Methos was so determinedly casual about--.

"Tonight," Methos said abruptly, his shoulders sagging. "I'll be back tonight, but I'm not going to stay here anymore." He laughed, a little too lightly, a little too forced, but it seemed directed somewhere within himself. "You might find you'll hate it over time, but I will always come back."

* * *

Methos left without any further discussion, and Duncan turned back to the shower. One glance at the bed infuriated him, and he stopped to pull off the sheets and remake it. He didn't know what was going on with Methos, he wasn't sure what exactly had happened, and he wished he knew what he could have done to make Methos stay.

The shower helped loosen some of the tightness in his stomach, but it didn't take off all the edge. He needed to do something, to move, take action -- lest his own frustration kill him before Kalas could.

Kalas.

MacLeod finished rinsing the shampoo from his hair. Kalas almost defined Immortal business, and the thought of dealing with that gave him a sense of grim satisfaction. Who was the biggest gossip he knew in Paris, who might have some information about underworld life?

He turned off the water, his satisfaction turning into a sharp-edged smile. Didn't Maurice have a cousin or two who trod the shadier side of life? Once he was dressed, Duncan would have a little chat with him.

As he dried off, he wondered if he should try to contact Amanda. Last night... He'd been so certain that she could take care of herself, that she'd leave town and escape Kalas. This morning, though, given everything that had happened... He was worried about her, and more than half-afraid that she'd try to track down Kalas herself. Intellectually, he knew she'd be fine, but emotionally -- he vigorously towel-dried his hair -- he wanted at least a phone call, so he would know she was safe.

And if she was still in town, he wanted her here, where he could see her. Not only so he could reassure himself that she was okay, but also because keeping track of her would give him a sense of purpose, keep him from thinking about...possibilities.

He pulled his clothes out of the drawer and tugged on his shirt. She was good at that, good at distracting him. She never gave problems a chance to take over her life. In some way, he envied that, envied her ability to set boundaries and let possibilities push her only so far.

It wasn't a talent he had, and right now, he wished it were one he could develop. He tended to let circumstances pull him in. He laughed. In the modern vernacular, he had a hard time saying 'no.' It was good that he had friends that had an easier time of it, otherwise...who knew where he might end up?

That thought brought back the memory of Methos, and the confusion and frustration he'd set aside rushed back. He grabbed his coat and sword, and shoved on his shoes. Talking with Maurice would give him a sense of doing something, instead of waiting for things to happen. He'd throw himself into the search for Kalas, and deal with Methos...later.

Much later. Hopefully after Amanda -- and his perspective -- came back.

He'd finished dressing by the time the phone rang, putting an end to any of those thoughts. As he hung up the phone, the words echoed in Duncan's mind, taking on a tinny quality like the sound of a gramophone: Kalas had Amanda. He should have kept her with him last night. He hated having his attention split like this. He couldn't really focus on any one thing; there was too much to do.

And right now, all he could do was sit and wait, his hatred of Kalas growing stronger by the minute. If Kalas hurt -- killed -- Amanda --

He stood and paced, then decided to head out on deck. Joe and Methos were due soon, and that only added to his anxiety; Kalas couldn't have them both. Duncan didn't think he could handle one more friend going missing right now, and the idea of Kalas taking Methos' head...

Duncan could feel the pain of that thought settle like a brick in his stomach, slamming into his insides and grinding it all to a pulp. Another death he didn't want to think about. Kalas seemed to have a knack for knowing which people would hurt MacLeod the most.

Ah, Fitz. I miss you. I couldn't protect you, either, could I? I can't protect anyone.

He heard the car drive up and looked over to see Joe and Methos climb out, squabbling over something. He didn't really pay attention, too wrapped up in his own memories. But every footfall he heard reassured him -- at least those two were still alive.

And Richie was safe, somewhere. For a moment, he warmed himself with that thought, but the warmth faded before he could take a deep breath. He'd demanded that Amanda leave it alone. He didn't want anyone else to die for him -- and now there was a real possibility that she might. 

* * *

The meeting with Christine had been a disaster, which accounted for Joe's horrible mood. Intellectually, Methos knew it was serious, but he also knew Christine would find it hard to convince anyone that Immortals really existed.

A few would believe, though, and that would make it that much harder for everyone to stay hidden from the rest of the world -- but it was getting harder to stay hidden every day. This was a debacle, but in the grand scheme of things, it was no worse than a hundred -- a thousand -- other near disasters in his life. And he had to admit, to live openly as an Immortal was a great temptation. It was different, something he'd never done. The novelty of it had a certain appeal, despite how asinine he knew the idea to be.

Maybe it was time that the information got out.

And maybe, he thought as he walked along with Joe, if he said it often enough, he'd begin to believe it. Already he could feel his Adam persona cracking around him, and for a moment, he panicked. MacLeod had done this to him, thrown his equilibrium off. Dammit, how could he have been so stupid?

He couldn't really blame MacLeod for this, though. Life wasn't a chess game; you couldn't think everything out in advance. He'd overreacted this morning; he knew that, just as badly as he'd reacted with Christine. And given how they'd parted, was it any surprise that he was a little reluctant to see Mac again?

At the same time, he knew how much he wanted to smooth the morning out. Five thousand years, and he still couldn't get his mind and his heart to pull the traces together. Enlightenment was a long way off.

Joe snorted as they walked toward the barge. "Well, I'm glad you can laugh. You know your life is about to be turned inside-out."

It already was, Joe, as soon as I met MacLeod. "Empires rise and fall, Joe. Remember the Chinese curse?"

Joe snorted. "Yeah, may you live in interesting times. Well, things just got really interesting."

From the top of the barge ramp, Mac added his opinion. "That's one way of putting it."

Mac's voice sobered Methos more quickly than coffee and a cold shower. "Something going on?"

The answer was short and quick. "Kalas has Amanda."

Three things fell into place. One, Methos knew that MacLeod and Amanda had been together, off and on, for the last three hundred and fifty years, and Methos found himself aching for his friend. Two, Methos had been Amanda's lover himself, several hundred years ago, and found he still had a few...feelings...for her himself.

And three, it seemed that with the new crisis, his bad behavior from this morning was being overlooked. Part of him was incredibly relieved about that.

Methos could feel Joe's eyes on him, measuring his reaction. Part of you always the Watcher, eh, Joe? He pulled himself together and let Joe steer the conversation, before he could drown in his own thoughts.

Joe seemed to have decided to lay everything on the table. "You know, we got another big problem, Mac."

"You know that Watcher business we were handling without any help?" Methos said.

Mac looked steadily at them both. "Yeah."

Methos looked at Joe, and Joe looked back. With a sigh, Methos realized that he'd lost the coin toss and turned back to Mac. "Well, it's gotten a little out-of-hand."

Mac looked at him questioningly, and Methos shoved his hand through his hair as he sighed. "I think we better go below. And if you have any beer left, you might want to get it out."

Joe shook his head. "You may want to go for something stronger. I suggest a good Scotch, myself." 

* * *

"She got it all?" Duncan tried to cover how shaken he was. First Kalas, then Amanda, now this. Everything was falling to pieces around him, and there seemed to be nothing he could do.

And he couldn't keep himself from staring at Methos.

Joe reinforced the problem. "Immortals, Watchers, the histories, everything."

Duncan darted a glance at Methos, hoping for...what, he didn't know. Maybe some hopeful advice, some wisdom, a plan -- something that he could do to prevent this from happening. "This could start a panic. Witch-hunts. Half the governments in the world hunt us." Duncan tried to catch Methos' gaze, but Methos was looking off somewhere with memories of his own. Duncan knew he wasn't the only witch-hunt survivor.

It was visceral for them, not an intellectual exercise. Inquisition and torture, the smell of burning flesh, the deaths of close -- beloved -- friends. There would be experimentation, and genocide. The creation of Immortal death camps. Christine would make them all pay for what Kalas had done.

Joe tried to make the future sound encouraging. "Look, I've got every Watcher in France out looking for her."

Looking for Christine when they should be looking for Amanda. But they wouldn't, of course; Amanda wasn't 'Watcher Business.' "For thousands of years, Joe, you've kept this a secret. What the hell happened?"

Methos pulled back into the conversation. "Don't blame Joe," he said quietly.

"Well, she's not the only one missing, you know!" The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Kalas..." He stopped, swallowed, tried to calm down. Anger wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Methos laid his hand on Duncan's arm, the weight of it reassuring without a word being said, then settled back onto his perch near the porthole. "She's still alive."

Duncan couldn't look at him. This was all his own fault. He was the one Kalas wanted; none of his friends should be involved. "He could use her against me, or he could just kill her outright. One way or another, though, he'll contact me."

The phone rang.

Duncan picked it up, knowing who it would be. "Yeah." Instead of Kalas' strained voice, a young man squeaked out his query along with his anxiety. "Is Mr. Dawson there? It's about Christine Salzer. "

"Yeah. " Duncan looked over at Joe. "It's for you."

He turned over the phone and barely listened, his mind caught up in how to find Amanda. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Methos looking back and forth between them, as if he were in some sort of tennis match. It was clear his loyalties were torn, that he didn't know which man to support about what issue--

But Duncan knew.

Methos needed to help Joe. Stick with him and stay the hell away from Kalas. Dealing with Christine and destroying this Watcher CD would keep him safe.

Duncan grimaced at his thoughts. A choice between the devil and the deep blue sea; at least with the sea you stood a chance.

"They've spotted her. She's on her way to the Tribune. There isn't a lot of time." Joe handed the phone back and turned for the door. "You guys keep tabs on Kalas. I'll go check on Christine, see if I can't talk her out of it."

"Joe..." With a glance at Mac, Methos turned to follow Joe. "I'll come with you."

"No, you won't. You stay with him."

"Joe..."

"Adam." Joe pounded the deck of the barge with his cane. "Don't you think you've done enough? Christine is my responsibility. I will take care of it." He waved at Mac. "Stay here, and stay safe."

Duncan frowned as he watched Joe leave. Something felt wrong about this, but he wasn't sure what. The way Joe had talked about Christine being his responsibility... He remembered a starry night, and Joe with a gun: 'We take care of our own.' Duncan felt the back of his neck tighten, and he clenched his jaw.

"We're not letting him go by himself, are we?" Methos asked.

Duncan shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath and looked over at Methos. "No, we're not. Come on. We'll take my car." 

* * *

Joe had already arrived by the time Methos and MacLeod pulled the Citroen into a parking space.

"Do you see him?" Mac asked.

"Uhm," Methos looked around. "Yeah, over there, on that bench." He pointed toward two figures on a park bench at the base of a tree. "They're both there."

"Good." MacLeod pulled on the parking break and swung himself out of the car.

Methos grabbed at him. "Let Joe do this on his own. You don't have to interfere." He looked up back at the bench. "It's--"

He was going to say, "It's fine." Instead, he whispered, "Oh my God, he's got a gun."

MacLeod didn't wait for another word, taking off for the two figures standing under the tree. "Joe!"

Methos scrambled out of his side of the car, a half-step behind. What was Joe thinking, to pull a stunt like this? There might be people around, someone who would see him shoot her, or call the police to report a crazy man waving a gun around. Joe could end up on trial and in jail. What was he thinking?

MacLeod was yelling now. "Joe, don't do this."

While Mac tried a frontal assault, Methos' mind spun. He needed to get behind Joe, if possible, and take the gun away while Mac had him distracted.

He was too late.

Joe pulled the trigger, and the shot rang out. MacLeod stumbled and fell; he'd stepped between Joe and Christine, and the bullet hit him in the back, rather than her. Methos ignored Joe on his way to Mac, pushing Joe's gun down and away as he passed. He looked around, confirming that no one had seen them, or been attracted by the noise of the gunshot. Crisis averted, for now.

Christine ignored them all and walked into the Tribune's offices.

Methos pushed his hair out of the way and let his hands rest on Mac's shoulder. This whole thing was a proper fuck-up, wasn't it? First the CD, then Kalas, now Joe turned avenging angel. Could it get any worse?

Oh, yeah, he thought to himself. Don't even think about that.

He was grateful that Joe didn't even try to talk to him. He wasn't sure what he would have said beyond 'that was the stupidest thing I've seen in five thousand years.' Fortunately, the wound was small, and it wasn't long before Mac recovered. His eyes fluttered open as he gasped for air. Methos smiled down at him and stroked his arm. "It's okay, Mac. It worked. She's safe. Joe's safe. We're all safe."

Mac rolled over onto his side, and Methos helped him to stand. He was so woozy he had to lean against a tree for support.

Methos propped himself up against the tree as well, not quite willing to let go of Mac yet. "Well, life as we know it is over."

They'd both been ignoring Joe, and finally the Watcher broke, rounding on Mac. "Do you know what you just allowed to happen?"

"Yes." Mac didn't even look at him.

"Then why?" Joe yelled. "MacLeod, why did you save her?"

Mac gave him a disgusted look and pushed himself away from the tree, walking toward the car.

Methos didn't bother to be polite. "He didn't save her. He saved you." He stared after MacLeod. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, and jogged to catch up with Mac. "I'll take Dawson home, okay? Then I'll meet you at the barge." He squeezed Mac's arm. "Call me if you hear anything about Amanda."

"Yeah." Mac nodded once, obviously working to keep his emotions in control. "I will. And Methos?"

"What?"

"Thanks." A small half smile, and he turned away.

Methos found himself smiling, as well. He turned to Joe. "Come on. I'll drive."

* * *

He never had a chance to go back to the barge. He got Joe back to the hotel just fine, only to have to deal with questions from the Watchers demanding to know what had happened with Christine. Joe hooked up the laptop and logged in via the second phone line in the other suite, and Methos found himself answering all the phone calls while Joe answered email and filled out incident forms. He'd ordered up a pot of coffee and worked his way through all of the cups.

The phone in Joe's hotel room rang again, and while Methos briefly considered throwing it against the wall, he decided to answer it, instead. Fewer repercussions that way. Or so he hoped. He fumbled with the receiver, and finally managed to answer it. "Hello?"

"It's me." MacLeod.

Oh, God. What now? He sagged onto the bed. "What's up?"

"Amanda's back." There was some hesitation there. "Thought I should call."

Methos froze. "That's-- great news, Mac." Actually, he wasn't sure if it was great, or not. He'd been enjoying MacLeod's company, maybe a little too much. With Amanda there... Well, things would be different. "I'm glad she's okay."

That part, at least, was true. He didn't wish Amanda ill, just wished -- he didn't know what. That he'd at least called Mac when things weren't so hectic, before Kalas broke out of jail. Wished that he hadn't stayed away so long.

Wished he had kept far, far away. Left Paris and gone to New Zealand, or something. Someplace MacLeod wasn't going to be haring off to any time soon.

"Methos? You still there?"

"Sorry." He refocused on the conversation. "I was...distracted."

"Oh." Did that sound disappointed? "Come by tomorrow. Please."

"Yeah." He couldn't believe he was agreeing; he knew it would hurt to see him with Amanda. But there was an easy way out. "I'll need to bring Joe along. The Watchers want us to stay in pairs."

"That's odd."

"It's a new precaution. Since they found out about Kalas." Or it would be, once he suggested it. He'd make sure Vemas understood how dangerous Kalas could be.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

No. "Joe'll adapt. I'll see you tomorrow, MacLeod." Methos set the phone in the cradle and sank back against the bed. He shouldn't be here; he shouldn't be doing this. Hadn't he decided to keep MacLeod at arm's length? Hadn't he decided not to get involved? Still, the sound of Mac's voice tore at him. Mac wasn't going to go where he wasn't invited -- and Methos wasn't going to invite him. Right?

He rubbed his eyes. He needed to get some shuteye himself. "Hey, Joe?" He looked over at Joe, who was hunched over his laptop, writing a detailed report of the incident. Again. "Joe?"

"Uhm?" Finally, a response. Joe hadn't said anything in the last hour.

"I'm going home now. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

"Fine." He never looked up from what he was doing. "Piece of shit," he yelled at the machine.

With a shrug, Methos left, leaving Joe to finish his paperwork in peace.

* * *

Joe headed up the gangplank, while Methos stayed on shore, hands thrust in his pockets. He'd come to a lot of decisions last night, among them the realization that yes, the more ties Mac had to Amanda, the better it would be for them all. Now he just had to figure out some way of getting Amanda to go along with the idea.

Seeing her come out of the barge, Methos' heart sank. It didn't look like that was going to be a problem at all.

"Methos?" She slapped MacLeod on the arm. "You didn't tell me."

Mac glanced at Methos. "I was told not to."

She ignored Mac and flitted down the gangplank to give Methos a hug, leaving Joe to talk to Mac alone. "How long has it been? Three hundred years?" She angled her head, holding her cheek up to be kissed, and Methos obliged.

"Something like that. A while, anyway." He flexed his hands inside his pockets and smiled. If people were like animals, Amanda had always been one of the big cats: sleek, inquisitive, and dangerous. "It's good to see you. I was sorry to hear about Rebecca."

Sadness clouded her eyes. "Yeah. Well, it happens."

"Ah." Methos didn't know what else to say. He'd felt some grief when he'd heard -- but it had lacked the force it should have. Rebecca had been both his friend and his lover, but both of them had known their true nature lay elsewhere. He watched Amanda's hands, the way she played with her jewelry. It was obvious she still mourned.

"Uhm, Methos?" she said at last.

Methos blinked, brought out of his observation. "Sorry." He looked at her, seeing a hint of Rebecca in the way she held his gaze. "What brings you here?"

"Old business, actually." She glanced back at Mac, and then tucked herself into Methos' arm. "Let's be friends, all right? I like Mac, and what's happening..." She shrugged. "Things could get bad."

"So, is that your way of apologizing for trying to kill me?"

"Something like that." She smiled at him, and Methos felt his resistance melting. "Please?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It would be novel, wouldn't it? I'm not sure we've ever been friends."

"We could give it a try." She slapped his arm good-naturedly, and Methos laughed. That was Amanda; she wouldn't bring it up again, and neither would he. Wanting the past to stay buried was something he could appreciate.

Looking at her, though... He glanced over at Mac, who was deep into conversation with Joe. Turning back to her, he said, "There's more, isn't there."

"Maybe."

Her hands fluttered up to her face as she spoke, making her look delicate, but Methos wasn't buying it. Amanda was a more than credible manipulator when she wanted to be, but her heart wasn't in it. He kept quiet and looked at her, letting her get to her point.

"All right," she said, her tone exasperated. "Mac's a good friend of mine, and I don't want anything to happen to him."

"Are you... Are you warning me off?" Methos was astounded. He'd never have expected Amanda to do something like that.

"Yeah." Her cheeks were a little red, whether from embarrassment, or the sun, he wasn't sure. "In a way. I guess... I want to know that you'll stick with us, Methos, if things do get bad."

It was almost -- but not quite -- as bad as waking up with Mac had been. Another commitment. Another agreement to do something other than walk away.

"Think about it." She patted Methos' hand. "It's good to see you anyway. Nice to know that even a jackass can survive." She ignored Methos' glare. "Listen, Mac and I are going to the Eiffel Tower. You want to come?"

"No." He looked over at Joe instead of looking at her. He needed time to think, to figure out what was happening to him, what he was doing here. "No, I don't think so. We have some business we need to attend to."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, putting her sunglasses back on, and walked over to MacLeod.

Mac smiled at her as she threaded her hand through his arm, then glanced over at Methos. His dark eyes captured Methos' gaze for a moment, his expression questioning. *You two know each other?*

Methos lifted his eyebrows and said nothing -- *Does that surprise you?* -- watching as Amanda captured Mac's attention once again. He shook his head. First a commitment to the Watchers, then the bookstore tying him down. Now old acquaintances were appearing, and the whole bloody world was falling apart.

The worst of it was -- Methos wanted to get involved. He wanted to help and try to make things right. He winced cynically; there was no real right. People lived, or they died, and the world just went on.

He remembered the feeling he'd had lying with Duncan -- MacLeod. A sense of belonging, of acceptance, that just made him ache to be close to that again. What would Mac say, Methos wondered, if he knew about everything in Methos' life?

Methos sighed. No, keeping his distance was the right thing to do. If he wanted to help, the best way was through Joe and the Watchers, and to keep clear of any more Immortals. He'd do what he needed to clean up the mess he'd helped make, but after that, all bets were off. Amanda and Duncan -- Joe, too -- would have to take care of themselves.

* * *

The Eiffel Tower provided not only amusement, but a sense of centeredness. Each breath he took had a sweeter taste than before he had gone there; each step reminded him that his friends were still alive. Amanda had guessed some of what he needed, as she so often did, but she had thought he needed to feel alive.

He smiled wryly. He didn't care if he lived so much as he cared that she did. Amanda, and Methos, and Gina and Robert, and Grace, and so many of his Immortal friends. The world would go mad if that disk got out; he had to prevent it.

And he wasn't about to let Amanda risk her life for his. Nor was he willing to leave the matter to someone else to sort out. She, needless to say, was irritated with him. In the car, she had said nothing since the moment that Duncan refused to leave town. It had been a very quiet ride.

As soon as he parked, she slammed the door to the car, striding across the quayside and back to the barge.

Something caught Duncan's attention as Methos called to her from the deck. His voice held humor, but there was a ring of steel in it. There had to be a problem. "Thought you'd be packed and on a plane to somewhere."

"See?" Amanda glared at Duncan, then turned back to Methos. "I tried that already, didn't work."

Duncan was only a half pace behind her onto the deck. "What's up?"

"Clancy, the editor of the Tribune, is dead." Methos glanced around, looking both paranoid and uncertain. "So's Christine Salzer."

Joe had already tried to kill Christine on Watcher orders; it seemed they hadn't stopped there. "How?" Duncan said grimly.

"I didn't do it!" Methos pulled back, as if knowing the direction of Duncan's thoughts. "No, someone got there ahead of me."

Damn. This just kept getting worse. "The disk."

"Gone." Methos wouldn't meet Duncan's eyes. He might not have engineered Clancy's or Christine's deaths, but it sounded like he'd taken advantage of the situation and searched the room. "The computer was wiped clean."

"You don't think it was Joe?" Amanda asked.

"No." Methos sounded certain. "He had his chance, it wasn't him."

Baffled, Amanda pressed her point. "Then who was it?"

"My guess is one of the Watchers, a local named Vemas."

"Has anybody spoken to him?" Duncan asked.

"Not yet," Methos said, "but it wouldn't surprise me if he denied it."

"Well, a double murder isn't something most people would admit to." Amanda stepped up onto the barge; Methos was quick to offer her a helping hand. "I'm glad it's over."

"Maybe it's not." At least they were down to a single problem, Duncan thought. Watchers and Immortals made a hell of a mix. "Kalas is still out there."

"How would he know about this?" Amanda glared at him. "I mean, I know he's dangerous, but aren't you being a little paranoid?"

"Maybe." Duncan put his arm around Methos and drew him away from Amanda. "Tell me more about this Vemas."

Amanda headed below desks while the two of them talked; from past experience, Duncan knew she had little interest in organizational intrigue. He asked questions about the Watcher hierarchy, and who might be involved; Methos answered to the best of his ability, pleading that he was a researcher and wasn't involved with much of the fieldwork. Duncan found he enjoyed Methos' ready mind, and his ability to capture details. His eyes were alight as he talked, his movements quick and energetic. Duncan found himself smiling, despite the graveness of the situation.

"So you're saying I should approach Vemas with caution?" he asked quietly, his head tucked in close to Methos'. The easy dismissal of their night together still unsettled him, but even though he'd said he'd leave, Methos hadn't walked. Duncan had the feeling that Methos talked a lot more than he acted.

Actions and words. It was something to think about.

Methos pulled away and folded his arms in front of his chest, looking out across the water to the far bank. "I don't think you should approach him at all."

"If he has the disk--"

"If he has the disk, Joe and I can find out. There's no reason for you to go near him at all."

The hairs on the back of Duncan's neck stood up; Methos sounded like he meant it. He wanted to go to Vemas in Duncan's place, and Duncan wasn't about to let anyone else risk themselves for him. "I better make sure," he said coldly, his voice flat and determined.

Methos glared at him, his mouth a tight line. "You're insane."

"So I've been told. "

Methos' voice dropped to a near whisper. "I am a *Watcher*, MacLeod. Nothing's going to happen to me if I talk to Vemas. They might demote me, or put a reprimand in my official file for making the disk in the first place, but no one will think twice about it. If *you* go waltzing into Watcher Headquarters and want to meet with Vemas--" He shook his head. "That has got to be one of the stupidest plans I have ever heard."

"As stupid as an Immortal living among Watchers?" Duncan lifted his chin. "You might hate it over time, Methos, but you'll find that my friends come first." Methos grimaced, apparently recognizing his own words in what Duncan said. Duncan laid his hand on Methos' shoulder, and for an instant the facade softened. Once again he saw the man he'd taken to bed, the man he'd connected with under the bridge that night months before. Duncan's fingers tingled from that touch, and he wondered if Methos burned the way he did.

"Just--" It came out as part groan; Methos stopped himself and swallowed while Duncan took his hand away. "Nevermind. You do what you have to do. I'll see you later."

Duncan watched, the barge gently swaying beneath his feet, as Methos headed below deck. This was sheer lunacy. Neither of them was lacking in experience, yet -- it seemed to have partially soured. Begun at a bad time, perhaps, their original ease turning awkward.

He glanced out at the near bank and watched a young couple stroll past. He couldn't help but check out what he could see of their wrists.

No tattoos.

Duncan looked down at his hand and rubbed his fingers together. He missed that ease, that camaraderie and instant connection. It had felt-- like finding Fitz again. Or when he'd first met Amanda.

Give it time, he thought to himself. Find out what happened to the disk from Vemas, find out if he'd had Christine and the editor killed. He thought of Horton then, and his lips curled back in a grim line. The Watchers could be ruthless, he knew. Vemas might have his own plans for what should happen to Kalas, plans that Duncan would agree with as long as the Quickening wasn't lost.

If not, then he'd find Kalas himself and make sure no one else died because Duncan called them friend. And after that -- he glanced back to where Methos had been. There were other possibilities. Once they had some more time. 

* * *

When Methos got back from checking in with Joe at the hotel, Amanda and Mac were arguing. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew the tone; he didn't want to think about what else might have gone wrong. On the bright side, they all still had their heads, for at least a little while longer.

Tempers were frayed and nerves rubbed raw; MacLeod had his sword drawn when Methos strolled up to the barge. Amanda looked furious, and MacLeod wasn't any better. "Did I miss something?" Methos asked casually, his heart pounding.

Amanda glared at Mac. "Let him tell you," she said, and stalked off into the barge.

Methos looked up at Mac, but no explanations seemed immediately forthcoming. Fine, he could wait.

Finally, MacLeod sighed. "Let's take a walk."

The park wasn't far, and it was a nice night for walking. MacLeod brought him up to speed on what had happened while he went looking for Vemas -- including the ultimatum.

"Clever," Methos said, his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing Duncan and shaking him. "We don't know where he is, and even if we did, he'd feel us coming and upload the files. Can't see that he's left any doors open."

"Just one."

Methos looked at him sharply. Great, martyrdom would solve all their problems right now. "I was in Rome once. 93 A.D., the Coliseum. I saw Christians facing the lions. Some of them looked almost happy to die for their faith."

MacLeod put a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Your point, or are we just strolling down memory lane, here?"

"That afterwards, the only ones looking happy were the lions."

"This isn't about faith."

"No, it's about sacrifice." Methos let the anger burn though him; he hated to see MacLeod waste his life in a hopeless gesture. "It's a hell of a thing to be a martyr, MacLeod, and that's what Kalas wants. He's pushing all your buttons."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions. Enlighten me."

Don't give up, Methos wanted to scream. Don't just turn yourself over to him. He forced himself to pull back, to distance himself from his feelings. "Maybe Amanda's right; you fight your best fight."

"What, every man for himself, and to hell with the rest?"

Mac didn't get it. Once he turned himself over to Kalas, Kalas would take his head -- and could still do anything with that damn disk. "So what if the world finds out? Life is about change, civilizations rise and fall."

"This isn't about civilizations, this is about people! Amanda, Dawson, Richie -- our world is not an ant farm," Mac snapped back at him, his eyes blazing.

Why was it that he found such impassioned naivete so damn attractive? MacLeod had never looked better than he did at this moment, focused, his need to help so strong -- and so utterly stupid. Methos didn't know which was worse: his cynicism, or MacLeod's unshakable faith in mankind. Methos shook his head, his own amusement leaking out. "The passion of youth."

"Yeah, boys will be boys."

"And every cloud has a silver lining," Methos added. Fine. Be that way.

"What do you mean?" His tone pulled Mac up short.

"If you die, Amanda will be free to date." Methos couldn't look at him, he was shaking so bad. Time to get back to the barge and see if Joe had found anything.

He hated feeling helpless, and this whole situation made him furious. If MacLeod wanted to die a pointless death, there was nothing he could do. It wasn't his choice, his concern. People made their own decisions, and those decisions had consequences, and those had to be dealt with.

But would it have made any difference, he wondered, if he hadn't walked away the other morning? If he'd just come out and said it meant something? Would the block of ice sitting in the pit of his stomach be any less frightening if he had?

Why the hell had he ever thought that keeping his distance would do anyone any good?

* * *

Duncan let Methos go while he thought about it, but it didn't make sense. Amanda had told him -- briefly -- that she and Methos had met because of Rebecca, but she never made it sound--

Oh. "Very funny!" He called to the retreating back, but Methos just kept walking. Just like he'd said he would the other night.

But he'd always come back.

The thought made Duncan smile, and he sat down on a park bench. Methos wasn't half as clever as he thought he was. If helping people didn't matter, then why was he trying to stop Duncan from challenging Kalas? It wouldn't matter what the outcome was, so why did it matter if he fought or not? The only way it made sense is if it was personal -- and Mac liked the sound of that.

He stretched, arching his back over the top of the park bench, and relaxed, letting everything settle back into place, running through Methos' arguments in his mind. Things happen. You can't keep everyone safe forever. You dont know what the future will bring. You can't save the world.

Maybe that was Methos' way of saying 'don't die,' just like Connor never said good-bye.

Duncan levered himself off the bench and started back to the barge. Whatever Methos thought, he had no intention of dying. If it came to a fight, he'd make sure Kalas was the one shorter by a head. 

* * *

The barge was quiet without Mac around. Joe had handled all the calls from the Watchers, but there hadn't been anything in at least an hour. Methos paced around the edge of the room, his heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. Every time the barge moved, he instantly turned to a porthole, but it was never Mac.

He shouldn't be here. Amanda had left, and that was the smart thing to do -- clear out, disentangle himself from the Highlander's very existence. No one knew where Amanda had gone; she'd slipped her Watcher -- easy enough to do in this chaos -- and Mac was out looking for her. He should clear out before Mac got back.

Yet he couldn't do that. Already, he was so firmly ensconced in MacLeod's web that he didn't think he could ever pull free; he needed Mac to stay alive. And like Amanda, a part of him wanted to go out there and kill Kalas, proving that he could take care of himself -- and Mac, as well.

It was a stupid thought. He hoped Amanda wasn't doing anything stupid, like trying to kill Kalas herself. She'd already tried twice, and Kalas was still out there, walking around.

Maybe he should do what Amanda had done and take on Kalas himself, before Mac could do anything stupid that would end up getting him killed. Better yet, if he could track down Amanda, the two of them could work out a plan to get rid of Kalas. They didn't have to involve Mac at all, particularly since MacLeod seemed desperate to part company with his own head....

He turned and caught Joe watching him. "What?"

"Nothin'," Joe said calmly.

"Oh?"

Joe shrugged and leaned forward. "What the hell were you thinkin' about, anyway?"

"The disk," Methos lied easily.

"Right." Joe shifted in his chair, the wait obviously getting to him, too. "So...why'd you become a Watcher, anyway?"

"I thought we went over that. It seemed like a good place to hide."

"So you keep saying. That disk, though--" He shook his head. "It's a headhunter's dream."

"You think I put it together so I would have a dossier on every Immortal on the planet?"

"The ones we knew about... Yeah, it's a possibility."

"So that I could take them all out and win the game."

Joe nodded. "Something like that."

"You give me too much credit. I wasn't thinking ahead, I was just...the technology...it seemed--"

"You thought it would be cool."

Joe made him sound like a kid with a new toy. "It would be more efficient. More useful to the Watchers in the field." He paused. "And research..." He looked at Joe. "I did it because I could. I didn't think about the consequences."

"You don't think things through a lot, do you?"

"I do what I need to do to keep my head. The rest of it, I improvise." Just like MacLeod. The thought gave him pause; had he really been contemplating trying to save MacLeod?

Methos heard the footsteps almost as soon as he felt the presence. He tensed and nodded at Joe, who stuck his hand in his coat pocket. The gun was still there, in case they needed it.

Duncan walked in, without saying much of anything, and hung up his coat. Methos could tell that he hadn't found Amanda. They were running out of time.

* * *

In the morning, it didn't look much better. "Any news?" MacLeod asked, almost as soon as they entered the barge. Methos didn't see any signs that Amanda had ever come back.

"Well," Joe said, "we know Martin was on the Rue du Marce near the Eiffel Tower. That only leaves about a thousand places Kalas could be."

Methos perched on the table across from Mac, feeling helpless. They had nothing, no leads, no loopholes, no second chances. They were at a complete dead end.

"Any chance of finding him before the deadline?"

Joe shook his head. "Zip."

"That's it, then." MacLeod looked resigned.

"I'm sorry, Mac." Joe sounded just as anguished as Mac looked. "It's Kalas' play."

"And whatever happens," Methos said, practically vibrating with the forces of his emotions, "he wins." *Please don't throw your life away.*

The phone rang.

* * *

The three of them stood at the base of the Eiffel tower, waiting for news, for the Quickening's light. In some vague way, Methos thought it was appropriate that they were near the Champ de Mar -- the Road of War. Sometimes it seemed like Immortal life was nothing but war, punctuated by moments of peace.

It wasn't always about who was the better fighter. Methos knew it, and he could feel that Joe knew it, too. It was about passion, and luck, and the need to stay alive. He watched for any sort of a sign that Mac was up there and still alive, but he couldn't *feel* anything. His hands tightened into knots in his pockets; his stomach was about the same.

Damnit, Mac, *live*, he thought. Kill the bastard. Kill him quickly, and get down from there and let me know you're alive.

The flickering lights didn't give any clues about who was winning. The flashes of light and ring of steel were the only clues they had that the fight was still in process.

The storm broke over them, lightning flashed, and Methos had to look away. 

* * *

Kalas was dead, his Quickening already merging with Duncan's, and the process left him feeling a little -- giddy It wasn't a word Duncan normally applied to himself, but right now, it fit. He felt giddy, Joe was grinning like he'd just seen his first grandchild, and Amanda looked like she was going to climb him at any moment. Even Methos was in a good humor, and for some reason, that pleased him most of all.

Despite what had happened, Methos cared. He might not be able to put it into words, but it was there all the same. Duncan could feel it, felt it from Methos, from Joe, and from Amanda. Respect...and not a little bit of love.

"So, what do we drink to?" Joe held up his glass of champagne.

Methos smiled. "How about the wonders of modern technology?"

"To MacLeod. Still in one lovely piece." Amanda held up her glass as well.

"I'll drink to that." Joe toasted Duncan, obviously happy that they had all survived.

Still, there were those who hadn't. People who had fallen to Kalas before this. People who had also been loved. "To Fitzcairn and Paul."

Amanda seemed to understand. "To old friends."

"And new ones." Duncan said, looking at Methos.

"Cheers," they all said and drank.

"Oh, Mac." Joe pulled a twisted, melted CD-ROM disk from his pocket. "I thought you might be interested in this."

Duncan took the disk. "Better late than never."

Amanda yawned dramatically. "I'm sorry, champagne makes me so sleepy."

Joe turned to Methos and said, "Time to leave," while Methos downed the rest of his glass.

"Oh, no," Amanda said, "not on my account."

Her lack of sincerity was obvious, and Methos seemed filled with the spirit of devilment. "I'll have another, then..." He reached for the bottle, but Amanda growled and pushed his arm away.

"Tomorrow."

Joe handed Methos his coat, and he pulled it on. "Come on, buddy. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into. Good night," he said to Amanda and Duncan.

"Be good," Amanda replied.

"Good night, Joe," Duncan said. "Good night, Methos."

They left, and Amanda smiled at Duncan. "I have a lot of making up to do, don't I?"

"Some, yeah."

She curled up in his lap and gave him a kiss, then glanced back at the door. "You know, Methos was okay. He was a real jerk when I first met him, never could stand to be around people for too long. I guess something changed that."

"Or someone."

She nodded. "Something or someone. Maybe a few someones. He used to visit Rebecca, but he never stayed long. It was as if...as if he didn't really believe that she wanted him to stay." She snuggled up against Mac's chest. "Not that I wanted him to, he was a pain. But she seemed to enjoy his company."

"Jealous?"

"A bit." Amanda smiled. "She was the first woman who loved me. It's hard to share something like that." She snuggled a little closer. "I'm better about sharing now."

"Huh." Something she said tickled the back of his brain. He kissed her, then each of her palms, and put them on her lap, and pushed her to get off his. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

As he headed out the barge, he heard Amanda call after him, "Just remember to apologize when you get back!"

* * *

Methos should have felt chilled, seeing Amanda and MacLeod together like that, but one thing he'd learned was how to put things in perspective. He was the one who had chosen this; he'd drawn the lines limiting their connection. Mac wasn't the one who wanted to back away.

"Adam. One second." Speak of the Devil...

He stopped and turned to Mac, waiting for him to catch up. "Sure, MacLeod."

Joe conveniently moved away, looking across the water at Notre Dame. Methos nearly laughed at the way Joe was giving them a little privacy. He was a good friend.

MacLeod jogged a little to reach where they stood, then reached into his wallet and handed Methos his card. "It's got my cell phone on it. I figured it would be easier than looking it up in the phone book -- or Watcher records."

"So why...?"

"I want you to call."

Methos smiled, rubbing his finger over the imprint. "Dinner, maybe?"

"Yes. Whenever you want. I'm not going anywhere."

"Tell you what, I have something I need to do, but when I'm ready, I'll call. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. That should make you easy to find."

"I like it that way. If people are looking for me, they don't go looking for friends of mine."

"You'll be a target all your life, you know."

"I know, " MacLeod said, and smiled. "It's better that way." He ran his thumb across Methos' cheek. "Remember to whistle." He took Methos in his arms and kissed him.

It wasn't long, it wasn't deep, but it was like sunshine after a month of rain. Bright and uplifting, making the whole world seem a more perfect place. When Mac tried to pull away, Methos grabbed his head and pulled him closer, putting into it all the words he would never be able to say.

And when they parted, MacLeod smiled at him, as if he understood. He turned and walked back into the barge, while Methos looked over at Joe.

"I didn't see anything," Joe said calmly. "Too many stars out tonight. Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful friendship, though."

"Oh, don't you start. I can only take so much maudlin sentimentality in a night."

Joe grinned. "How about we argue about history instead?"

"Now you're talking." Methos slipped the card into his wallet, unable to wipe the smug grin from his face. "Come on, then. I'll take you out for that beer."


End file.
